SPRINGFIELD – Kevin Ambrose kept his skills of diplomacy sharp with 36 years on the street as a police officer, and his build trim over as many years on softball fields and golf courses when not on duty.

Kevin Ambrose

Both had served him well on the job. Colleagues still reeling from the killing of Ambrose on Monday said the fallen officer could easily hit a golf ball more than 300 yards off the tee or nail a ball anywhere he chose in an outfield.

More importantly, Ambrose had always been equally as accurate sizing up potentially explosive scenarios he encountered every day as a uniformed officer.

“He had an uncanny ability to make people laugh in the worst situations. Back when we were young cops ... we were always taught to separate the combatants,” said Raymond Muise, now a chief security officer at MassMutual who rode in a squad car with Ambrose when the two were rookies. “Kevin would take the man, and I’d take the woman, or vice versa, and a few minutes later you’d always hear laughter coming from the room where he was.”

Ambrose, a husband, father of two and a grandfather, was fatally shot by a New York corrections officer, Shawn Bryan, during a routine call in the early afternoon. As he had done hundreds of times before, Ambrose had been called to ensure the safe passage of a television set to Bryan from the man’s estranged girlfriend, Charlene Mitchell, who had just obtained a restraining order against him.

The call for assistance seemed anything but volatile. But, on this occasion, Ambrose’s intuition, experience and his burly build couldn’t help him when faced with a man intent on killing his girlfriend and anyone who got in his way, according to his fellow officers.

Bryan shot at Ambrose through the door to his girlfriend’s apartment, shot Mitchell with their 1-year-old daughter close by and, later, fatally shot himself in the chest in his car, parked outside a Lawton Street apartment building.

Robert McFarlin

“When we game this, there’s nothing we’ll find that he did wrong. This is the most routine thing we do. If a guy is intent on killing you, there’s not a whole lot you can do,” said Deputy Chief Robert McFarlin during an emotional interview in his office less than 24 hours after Ambrose’s death.

Like McFarlin, many officers kept their grief behind closed doors. On the outside, it was business as usual: A line formed in the lobby at 130 Pearl St. as people came in for traffic complaints and made reports about stolen items. Routine dispatches crackled over the radios, while purple and black memorial bunting was being draped outside.

“We all recognize that this is part of the deal here, and we accept it as part of the job,” McFarlin said, before choking up and then continued haltingly. “But, this guy could’ve retired last year. He could’ve had his pension and been playing golf every day.”

Like Muise, McFarlin had come on the job in the 1970s with Ambrose. He rode in a car on the midnight to 8 a.m. dog watch with Ambrose to patrol the Mason Square neighborhood. The two got married and had kids young, McFarlin said, and cut their teeth on incessant calls about break-ins, bar fights and domestic disputes.

In 1985, McFarlin responded to the dreaded call of “officer down,” when patrolmen Alain Beauregard and Michael Schiavina were shot and killed during a traffic stop on Stebbins Street in the city’s Old Hill neighborhood.

“I still remember the positions of their bodies, and Michael’s eyes being wide open, but he was dead. But we were young guys. We just didn’t understand at the time,” McFarlin said. “I’ve known this guy more than 40 years.”

Like most who knew Ambrose well, McFarlin recalled his friend’s quick sense of humor and athletic prowess. The two shared another quality: They were both southpaws, and McFarlin notes that Ambrose was hit in his left shoulder by Bryan’s first shot, likely rendering him unable to go for his gun.

“He (Bryan) was only supposed to go up there and get his goddamn TV and take it back to New York,” McFarlin said, breaking down again.

Officers who followed Ambrose onto the force remembered him as a kindly mentor and being among the few officers uninterested in meting out the subtle hazing that rookies were expected to endure.

John Delaney

“I remember when I came on as a cadet and was just awestruck by him and his partner,” said Sgt. John M. Delaney, executive aide to Commissioner William J. Fitchet. “When you’re the new guy, you’re kind of shunned and put aside, but he wouldn’t look at you that way. He was just a good-natured guy and made you feel a part of the Police Department.”

Delaney also recalled playing in golfing foursomes with Ambrose at tournaments and marveling how far he could drive the ball. On the job, however, Ambrose flew under the radar.

He earned commendations in 1978 for his assistance at a house fire, in 1993 for assisting an elderly woman who had her purse snatched, in 1999 for helping to catch a bank robber, and in 2005 for assisting at a near-drowning in Five Mile Pond.

Ambrose made a conscious choice to stay in uniform as a patrol officer instead of chasing promotions, Muise said.

“Every time you get promoted, you have to go back to the dog watch. Of all the guys who started on the night shift in our car, Kevin hated working nights the most. He didn’t like the impact it had on his family,” Muise said.

Muise began hearing calls over the scanner on Monday from his post at MassMutual, and the strand made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“I heard the ‘officer down’ calls, and I heard Kevin’s name. I thought: it couldn’t be – he’s too savvy and too good to get caught in something like that. I was in disbelief, thinking of all the crazy things we went through as young cops together. All of those times, the most we ever got were stitches or a lump on the head,” Muise said.

In addition to leaving his wife, Carla, and his children, Kyle and Krista, colleagues say that among Ambrose’s legacy will be the lives of Mitchell and the couple’s child, who was unharmed in the incident.

“There’s no doubt in my mind that Kevin died trying to save that girl’s life,” said now retired Sgt. Dennis O’Connor, who worked with Ambrose for more than 30 years before retiring in 2010. “He was just a kind, dedicated and hard-working police officer; if you had 600 people lined up in parking lot and you could pick just five to be on your team, Kevin would be my first pick.”